The Heretic

Wayward Romance

“She was of the stuff of which great men's mothers are made. She was indispensable to high generation, feared at tea-parties, hated in shops, and loved at crises.”

<sup>In the days preceding winter, a young woman travels to work at her aunt's farm following the untimely death of her uncle. Here, she meets a shepherd who is working hard to pay off his land and establish himself for the future. Charmed by the woman's brazen nature, he eventually asks for her hand, only to be turned down instantly because of the woman's fear of subservience and quiet. Disappointed but forgiving, the shepherd takes his leave, and the two part for good.

A few days pass, and a letter arrives for the woman, stating that the entirety of her uncle's farm and funding had been signed in her name. Overwhelmed and eager to prove herself worthy of the inheritance, she rides for the farm shortly afterwards, with nought to rely on but her education.

Meanwhile, back beside her aunt's land, the shepherd awakes in the night to find that his newly bought and inexperienced sheepdog has driven his entire flock off of the edge of a cliff. Distraught, angered, and ruined, he is forced to hand over his land and property and leave with nought but the clothes on his back. He walks a long road to find work, and eventually finds a paperboy who tells him of a newly resurrected ranch which seeks all the help it can get. He arrives to find the workers struggling to put out a barn fire, and rushes to aid them, efficiently extinguishing the flames and preserving the harvest.

The woman arrives to thank the stranger, but quickly recognises the shepherd. Pitying his recent story and thankful for his actions, she offers him a home as her own shepherd, which he graciously accepts. He sets on to work hard, having fully accepted that he was no longer a standing candidate for her hand.

Being both a bold woman and someone completely unexperienced with farm life, she finds herself being targeted by swindlers, conmen and poor suitors. The story will follow her development as a Mistress and businesswoman, as well as her growing relationship with the shepherd, who offers honesty and subtle anchorage in order to shield her from afar and allow the farm to restore itself to its once prosperous image.

Premise based off of a novel by Thomas Hardy. The time passage for this setting will be around the 1800s.</sup>

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Good evening all! I'm looking for a partner who would be willing to play the lady in this light and warming plotline. Having been put out of the writing scene for a while, I'm wanting to jump right back in with a bit of soft romance.

As a literate writer who is generous with quantity, I will always try and deliver at least a solid couple of paragraphs per response. In regards to adult content, I am absolutely comfortable with sexual situations in my roleplays. It is by no means a must however, and I am more than happy to have a smut-free roleplay.

That being said, I will only write with adults. I am 20 myself, so it serves as a measure of comfort.

Do drop me a line if this catches your interest at all!

The Heretic's Search // Cas-Adv // 18+

upsies.

LISA: Life Ruining Roleplay

CS coming through soon ~

Devil's Runners

Newt perched on the edge of her bed, and dragged out a large, plastic box from beneath her feet. It was full to the brim with dart needles - a weird set of possessions for a teenager, perhaps. Carefully picking out several of them with her left hand, her right fumbled with one of the full flasks from the wooden crate beside her. The flask was a good size, and filled with a strange, pink-tinted liquid. Steadily, she pierced the film lid with one of the needles, filling it with the substance. She hummed quietly and tunelessly to herself as she repeated the process, until half of her darts were prepared and she could move onto a different flask. This time, the contents were much thicker, and coloured with a potent shade of dark green. Newt was apparently very sensible with her work, and rather than labels, she used dyes to identify her potions.

"Would you be so kind and bring the flashlight dear? We'll be needing them to see anything once we start to explore."

Newt was stood up by this point, and she looked towards Loki with a blank, humourless expression. After a few moments of thought and a head tilt later, a wry smile crept onto Newt's lips, and she pulled her cloak over her shoulders. "With pleasure, dear commander."

♅

As usual, Newt lagged behind the group, though its purpose was perhaps understandable. If something were to happen, Newt would need to gain some distance behind as quickly as possible, as to provide the best line of support. Though this mindset remained for now, she expected that she would need to help the front-line in navigating the deeper, more unstable tunnels. Newt was remarkably more reserved when outside; a feat which generally didn't go unnoticed. Her playfulness had dulled down significantly, especially so since her recent 'accident.' Even during the group's introductions, Newt knew it was better to keep her mouth shut. Leave it to the grown-ups.

Newt peered over her comrade's shoulders, tip-toeing as to get a glimpse of the crumbled tunnel. "... Easy." she breathed to herself, eyeing various gaps within the debris. It looked simple for her to navigate, and the rubble itself seemed like an easy job to shift. Especially with Sidney, the group's very own demolitionist.

"Great. Let's take look around and see what we can find. Newt, I hope you have the flashlights that i asked for."

Newt cracked a smile, shifting her position and taking a deep, exaggerated bow. She extended her right arm, revealing an array of flashlights hooked onto the inside of her cloak, along with her toxin darts and tear gas. Real shady dealer-style. "Shh. Wanna buy some torches?" She lifted her left hand, pressing her finger to her lips.

LISA: Life Ruining Roleplay

Dropping my interest here, hoping others do too. I'm very fond of Lisa.

Devil's Runners

"Wake up you lazy bunch. We've got work to do! You have 5 minutes to get ready for briefing."

Newt's bed was slightly dusty, neatly made, and empty - as usual. It was near impossible to guess where she'd tucked herself into for the night, as she never seemed to settle into the same place more than twice a week. In the past, her peers had jokingly used Newt's odd sleeping behaviour as a means of predicting the weather. Shortly after the god-awful clanging of metal, however, Newt made her presence known.

The doors to one of the rusting, overhead cupboards burst open, forced outwards by a sharp kick of Newt's foot. After a few moments, various items began to fall from the doorway, including a light trenchcoat, a pair of boots, and an old stapler. And then came the little creature herself, tumbling from her make-shift bed and landing gracefully on both feet in a seemingly perfect soft landing, her arms extending outwards to keep her cat-like balance.

Seemingly perfect - until she failed to keep straight. In a silent and slightly awkward manner, she fell chin-first, flopping like a wet towel onto the floor and planting her face in the crumpled coat. Too soon. A mess of orange, partially pulled back hair shaded her expression, which lay at an angle into the worn leather beneath her.

"Five... Five more minutes..." A meek murmur escaped her lips, muffled by her hair. Newt's head was still stuck deep within the clouds. For some, this dreamy morning mood was a positive sign of Newt's healing. Her fairly recent and only instance of capture and imprisonment had left her not only battered and bruised, but paranoid and quiet, and it seemed for a while that her personality had almost entirely died off. However, this had been a change which some of her peers might have welcomed; a lesson well learned, in their vision.

The incident had left the little blight with a plethora of odd ticks and habits; each of which are slowly fading with time. Perhaps the most memorable and irritating habits she had fallen into was her tendency to sleep on the floor beneath other people's beds. Her peers in question might have never seemed to know unless they saw her slipping under there in the first place.

Following a few seconds of lifelessness, the creature began to shift again, and a single eye peered up towards the source of the cacophony as Newt writhed to lift her head. She hummed grimly at the sight of Loki, and lifted her elbows to prop herself up, stretching widely as she seated herself onto her knees.

"Morninffh."

Devil's Runners

Joined. Mingmousey is my usual tag for gaming and such aheh - can't spare the effort of making an RP-specific account

Devil's Runners

Added a wee bit extra onto Newt's background, just to get an idea of where the bloody hell she turned up from.

Devil's Runners

@Liotrent If bad translates to a newt throwing pebbles at the back of an old man's head, sure!

Devil's Runners

"Newt"

_{ʀ ᴜ ᴇ ᴏ x ᴛ ᴏ ɴ}

^{" ɴ ᴇ ᴡ ᴛ "}

^{"Shh. The grown-ups are talking."}

Name: Rue Oxton
Nickname: Newt
Age: 19, presumably.

Appearance: Armoured

Newt's armour is light enough for ease of movement yet provides ample protection from the elements by shrouding her entire form. A beaten, greyed leather jacket is worn over a light undershirt, decorated with pockets and extra loops and made heavier by her satchel which hooks onto her waist. Her arms are almost always doubly protected by an elbow-length pair of slim-fitting leather gloves, well-worn and scorched in several places by loose chemicals. A fabric shawl is often worn as both a cloak and hood, offering warmth and subtlety even in the most terrible of places.

Newt's prowess in stealth and mobility demands for good quality footwear. As such, she is kitted with a pair of knee-length, softened boots, secured firmly against her calves with cloth wrap and plated at the knees with padded metal for gentle landings. Her harness, secured around her chest, allows for her sniper rifle and dart gun to be secured in an 'X-like' fashion on her back.

Appearance: True

On the few occasions where she is out of her armour, Newt is seen to be a short, almost frail looking individual, standing at a height of around 5'3. She is more sickly in appearance than her athleticism would suggest, and the stark paleness of her skin pays her no favours in this regard. Her copper hair is generally unkempt and cut roughly at her shoulders, often pulled back into a loose hairtie. A pair of wide, pale blue eyes are set into her features, and are the trademark of Newt's slightly eerie habit of prolonged staring. A scar, appearing to be the result of a rope burn, paints its way across her stomach.

When clad in her leathers and gear, Newt becomes remarkably androgynous in appearance, and it is not uncommon for her to be mistaken for a young boy by strangers.

Personality:

► Distrusting A newly gained trait. Newt is twitchy and cautious around strangers, though she is slowly getting over her recent trauma.
► Dependable Newt is a remarkable support and can easily be relied on from afar during expeditions. Rarely misses a shot.
► Often Anxious When off-duty, it seems as though over-excitement often gets the better of her, and she can get quite giddy in anticipation.
► Childish Despite her teenage years drawing to a close, Newt has not matured well and fuels her humour through mocking others and causing general mischief. All in good heart, of course.

Background: Newt, appropriately nicknamed after her slippery nature, was projected into the new world after a childhood spent surrounded by chemistry. With her extensive knowledge of chemicals and an affinity for trouble-making, it is only natural that Newt fell into the talent of mixing toxins; a skill she is now renowned for among her peers. Whilst Newt is certainly no leader, her position as support is irreplaceable; providing long-range cover with a rifle, dart-gun, and deadly accuracy. However, whilst covert expeditions are Newt's speciality, a recent incident where she had been caught has left her with an altered, slightly shaken personality. The new scar across her stomach is the only sign of her brief imprisonment; a story she otherwise refuses to tell.

Rue Oxton was born into a middle-class environment, surrounded by friends and general comfort. She suffered the loss of her mother pre-apocalypse, and thus spent a lot of time with her father in his pharmaceutical workplace. Over time, Rue grew to know and adore chemistry just as her father did, and eventually enrolled in her first year of medical studies. However, Rue's apparent fearlessness and experimental desire resulted in accident after accident, and was probably the reason why her father's hair had greyed so early.

Following the disaster, Rue was picked up by a dubious, trailer-faring group called the Cookery. Needless to say, it wasn't food that they prepared in this cookery, and Rue had earned herself a good standard of living within the new world through her poison sales and sketchy "pain relief." Despite her new day-job, substance abuse wasn't really Rue's thing, and she turned far away from her own chems. It was understandable - anyone would run for the hills if they knew what in the world she was using to mix these things.

The Cookery was eventually caught up to by a group of vigilantes, who took pity on Rue after she lied about her age, claiming to be four years younger than reality. They kept her around out of obligation, and turned her old abseiling hobby into the far more potent skill of grappling. Becoming little more than an errand-girl, Rue's true name would fade and she would eventually be known only as "Newt" - the slimy little git with a dart gun. Though, it seemed the vigilante group were fools in outfitting the little Newt, for they awoke one morning to find the little blighter - and half of their supplies - missing. Heavens only knew how she found herself among the Devil's runners.

Pros:

► Chemist Given the correct ingredients, Newt is able to mix an array of poisons, sleep toxins, and reactive gases.
► Stealth As well as being light-footed, Newt is able to use a grappling hook effectively, enabling her to position herself in awkward and otherwise unforeseeable sniping positions.

Quirks:

► Close-Combat Given her general size, Newt struggles with shaking off aggressors who are able to close a distance.
► Thalassophobia Newt has an unspoken fear of deep water. It is unclear as to whether she can swim or not.

Habits:

► Tinkering Newt has a slightly annoying habit of touching everything. Whilst it seems like innocent curiosity, she has broken things more times than she can count. It's best to keep valuable trinkets well out of her reach.

Equipment:

► Gas Mask Standard protective gear.
► Flask Satchel A leather satchel worn around the waist, altered for carrying separate flasks.
► Grappling Hook Signature gear. A gas-propelled hook, used to crawl into all those awkward nooks.
► Dart Gun Primary weapon used to effectively apply poisons and sleep toxins.
► Modified Dragunov SUV High calliber, silenced sniper rifle. Viewed as a last resort.
► Tear Gas Grenades Tactical grenades filled with her own, irritant elixir. A useful means of escape or engage.

Impressions:

Loki: "A walking pressure mine. Oh, how every bone in my body longs for me to throw something at her. But... Ah... I'm not the biggest fan of pain. Yes, even I know when to keep my distance."

Speed: "He's quiet. Doesn't respond much. Heaven knows I've tried a lot of things to shake him up, but he's a real Saint. I wouldn't change a thing about his tone though; It's nice to have a little pat on the back sometimes, I guess."

Boomer: "She frightens me a little. I prefer to keep out of her way, but... Er, do you think she'd blow up if I poked her with a stick? Literally?"

Teach: "Good old pops. A real miserable old tosser, but a very dear ally who keeps my head screwed on. Don't reckon he appreciates my antics much, but no matter how much I make that scowling brow twitch, he's always around to tell me what's what. He's also real handy on the occasions when my grapple seizes up."

Deadeye: "I like the crossbow man. Don't think he takes much from me, but I like his positivity on the field. I think about hooking him up with some toxins from time to time, but I suppose crossbow bolts are potent enough on their own."

Doc: "I'm a bit wary of the Doctor. He mumbles to himself sometimes and he trembles like he's been diving into my chems. I... Don't think some of us would be here without him, though."

Vadri: "Is it safe to say she's normal? Speaking to her... It's almost like nothing bad ever happened. I trust her judgement generally, and don't give her too much of a hard time. Where's the fun in riling up an average temper?"

Grim: "A real negative Nancy. Mister Anti-Fun. I like to make a real obvious point of when I have to wean myself into tiny hidey holes; I can almost hear his goosebumps."

Flamel: "Mad chemist's been throwing acid since I first met him. Probably licked a fair bit of it, too. He's undeniably fun to work with and we can make some real fancy potions when we sit down and think about it, but I like to often remind him that I get first picks on the chem scavenges."